#142 – Wasn’t Cool @ School

You could say many things about me, but no one, self included, would have classified me as cool when I was in school. I wasn’t good at sport; my parents weren’t Israel- born or among the founding families of Pardes Hana; we lived in a duplex while the cool ones all lived in a single family homes; and the fact that both my older brother and I skipped a class in the same year didn’t help. It was much more important to skip rope.
There was a time in which I was trying to fit in, to be like everyone else. It failed. Miserably too. Maybe this is when I realized that I wasn’t made for the herd. Years later, I do recognize though that while I wasn’t part of the herd, I was still heard. Enough students voted me to the chair of the school’s paper, I was performing w/the drama class . . . I wasn’t ignored; I was odd, with too many evenings lonelier than I’d liked them to be.
If I learned anything, painful though the learning had been, it was that the cost and effort of fitting in isn’t really worth it in the end. Fitting in does not bring happiness, joy or pride. All it means that instead of being loyal to self, one is loyal to the slimy, jelly like consensus that is brainless yet extremely judgmental. And the herd in one’s head can be such a rigid dictator. I quitted.
“It’s not easy being green” sings Kermit. “It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things, and people tend to pass you over ’cause you’re not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water or stars in the sky”… [Source: http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/i/itsnoteasybeinggreen.shtml]
Why this walk down memory lane, you may wonder. Thing is, being home, recuperating, grounded and restricted, with my mind free to wonder does funny things to you. It’s all because of you! The support, visits, calls, SMS’s, emails, Skypes. . . the love and care I was surrounded with, plus my mom’s spoiling nursing made getting better such a good experience – it felt and feels good getting better with all this support. ‘Cause one can take pain killers, but I am not aware of “be my friend” pills.
Thank you guys, each and everyone who supported.

Clipart source:
http://majorcare.org/Cool%20School%20Kids.gif
http://ayyyy.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/panda8.jpg

#141 – You Say “Tomato”, I say “Oh. . . “

I am not bothering with apologies about not writing for sooooo long.   I missed it too.

And no, guess I’m not finishing the final cut story.  Gallbladder is gone.  Maybe one day I’ll get around finishing the story.  Not today though.

Today it’s about tomato; tomato juice to be exact.

It all started very well.  Mobile 2.0 was over; the Finish Mobile association treated us to a fun dinner the previous night, and though I slept in after making it to the hotel sometime early that morning, I had a couple of hours before my flight to visit my favorite gallery in Barcelona; had time to take a shower thanks to the hotel flexibility, and was on board the first flight out of two on my way home for a week vacation.

Location: Lufthansa flight, bulkhead seat, 2 Russian guys to my left, the aisle to my right.  Minutes past takeoff I’m in flight mode: headset, MP3 player and a book.  When the Lufthansa sandwich shows up, I adjust.  I hate the “pretend to be a table”, so it stays stored in the armrest.  My solution, book in one hand, sandwich in the other MP Player on lap.

And then the drinks cart arrives.  Tired of hearing “sorry, we run out of lemon, I ask for my 2^nd preferred choice; tomato juice.  Now, with a glass in my hand it’s a real balancing act.  Glass of tomato juice in one hand, book in the other, sandwich on my lap, next to the MP3 player.  I even manage to bite the sandwich ever so often.  All is well and the book is good, until it’s time to flip a page.  I totally forget that there’s a glass full of liquid in my hand, and I turn it to flip the page.  Basic physics tells us the liquids, when given the option, obey gravity.  So it should have come as no surprise that turning a page with a glass in hand allowed the tomato juice to exercise its very own gravity.  Most of it though, didn’t exercise it far.  It landed on my lap.

My seatmates maintain frozen silence.  Not even one giggle or laugh.

Picture this: a very wet red right leg and full hands.  The shock lasts few seconds.  Then, like a preprogrammed robot, damage control process kicks in.  With one dripping hand holding the remains of the tomato juice, I manage to put the book behind my back, MP3 player follows.  Headset is off my head and joins the group session behind my back.  Last to join the reunion is the sandwich.  By whatever miracle, my socks are still white and dry.  A short struggle later I have shoes on.  The way to the lavatory never seemed longer.

Once I close the door behind me, I have time to take another sip.  Yes, tomato juice is still with me.  Then I try to think.  This is the first flight out of two, it’s early afternoon, and it’ll be 5 AM the following morning before I hit the ground in Israel.  No way I can survive the tomato smell or the looks for that long.

Done drinking the tomato juice, it’s laundry time.  Yes, in the airplane lavatory, I took off my pants and started washing them.   

The sink, miniature as it is, became my wash basin.  Clean and wet, it’s drying time.  I wring the pants, one leg at the time.  Instead of ironing, I “shake” them as hard as I can.  That’s how I avoid ironing.  In the process I get my glasses all covered with water drops.  I try very hard not to think what the people outside think hearing the noises coming out of the bathroom.

It’s time to put pants on.  One leg completely wet, the other not so much.  Last I’ve checked the only wet competitions were for white T-shirts.  I hold my breath and pull one leg, and then the other.  It’s cold, but not too cold.  I can do it.

And now, with nose high up, and maintaining eye contact with the ceiling only, I walk back to my seat.  I sit down, and start to reassemble my flying kit.  Headphones are back on, MP3 plays, book, and sandwich.  Surprisingly, all I have to wipe is the armrest and I am happy to realize that the seat’s upholstery is not fabric but rather leather-like.

As I try to balance all items the Russian guy in the seat next to me offers “you can put things here” as he points to his table.  I politely decline, but a minute later accept.  Now we are talking.  The two guys are returning from a chemistry convention.  Apparently Russia is the WW #1 manufacturer of food preservative 211 or whatever JSR-like number it has.  Unlike the Mobile 2.0 crowd, the chemists didn’t taste too much of Barcelona.  They were reading their Barcelona travel guide on their way back home.

I guess that there are different level of geekiness and nerdiness.

By the time we landed in Frankfurt, the only person who could tell that my pants were wet was I.  No stains left to tell the story.

6 months? you got to be kidding!!!

6 months and not one blog? Shame, shame on me.
a week before JavaOne is as bad as bad timing goes, but i shall make the time and create the blog.
no blogitto, no ergo sum.

#140 – From Goth to Gown

This one is to Martin, Eran and Simon.

A thought

Who could imagine that one Saturday I’ll be shopping for a new Goth pants, wear it on Wednesday, and change to a hospital gown on Thursday???  Not me.  The Goth blog will wait though.

Packing list

I know what to pack for a biz trip, but what do you take to a hospital?  Once it was decided that I’ll be spending the night[s] at the hospital, the Dr. suggested that I’ll first check-in and than go out to get my stuff.  “That way”, he said, “you won’t have to come back here again after you’ve been to the hotel”.  Well spoken.  40 minutes later, with my hospital bracelet, Martin and I were still waiting.  I decided I could use the special bonding, and hunted down the Dr. @ his office.  “I’m sorry, can you please tell us how long it’s going to take?”

“What?!! You are still here?!! Come on, I’ll take you”.  And so I was delivered to the ward by the nice doctor himself, who explained, to the nurses’ surprise, that I’m checking in, but will be leaving shortly.

I was relieved to be in the cab.  Can’t say that I wasn’t tempted to “fall asleep” in my hotel room and wake up in the morning all innocent.  Who cares where I sleep if it’s only sleeping.  But the IV thingy was hurting me and I was finally, getting hungry after 23 hours with no food and the only food/drink I was allowed comes in clear plastic bags.  Martin verified, IN PERSON, that I got in the cab to go back to the hospital.

What did I pack?  A laptop, one charger for phone, MP3 player, USB cable.  The electronics took much more room and were heavier than the necessities like tooth brush & paste, change of cloth…  Geek!

Karolinska University Hospital

11:30 PM

Of course, not using one, I didn’t pack a PJ.  The hospital took care of it.   Too white.  With my mouth dry, after 24 hours with no food, but couple of cups of water, IV was my feeder.

Laptop connected, Wi-Fi is free, Rhapsody is the soundtrack of my night.

First night at the hospital, and I did use the alarm button to call for pain killers.  It was time to give in.

Of course, once the pain killers started working, FaceBook, Twitter and their likes came to life.

05:00 AM

A polite knock at the door woke me up.  A nurse is coming for my blood.  With my eyes closed I stretch my hand, remember to tell her that my veins are narrow, and falls back to sleep.

At 7:40, I’m up again, learning that one cannot undress with IV attached.  A nurse is coming to help, and is sent back to get me towels, and of course, a clean PJ.  I opt for my own cloth.

At 9:30, I get the day’s doctor visit.  No one notes that since my shower, the IV had not been reattached.  I figure they will eventually.  “Turn off the music” is her first sentence.  And than, like they all do, she introduces herself by first name, shakes my hand and tells me how, even with my blood test results, they are still not sure what I have on top of gallstones.  How reassuring.

At 10:30, when my chaperon is coming to take me for my ultra sound, I stop him from moving the bad and demonstrate my ability to walk.  He is not sure what to do, so I start walking out of the room.

An hour later I’m done, and now I know better than to wait for a chaperon.  I walk back to the ward alone.  Still with no water or food, I’m thinking Yom Kippur.

Nu?

Between twitters, I dose off, get another pain killer and blood pressure is measured for the 2^nd or 3^rd time.

@ 14:00 or so, I’m waked up to be told that I am allowed to have my first meal.  39 hours since my last supper.  No one bothers to comment on the music anymore – guess they got used to it.    It’s a hospital; I have low expectations regarding my first meal.  Wrong.  3 crepes stuffed with mushroom and dill with nice mustardy sauce arrive.  And water.  And a horrible coffee that once left alone, I set free down the sink.

Gallbladder however, is inflamed, flight is highly discouraged, and another night of observation is prescribed.  I am down.  The pain is down, but it doesn’t matter, since I can’t find even one doctor [consulted with London and Israel] that will tell me that I should just walk away.

Around 17:00, my new babysitter is in, and everything looks better.  As much as I try to keep work out of here, how can I not feel lucky to work with people I really like?  How can I not smile when Eran, rerouting his ticket, is my new chaperon/body guard?

With some hope offered by the doctor, I get all energized to buy my ticket home for the following day.  Simon is rushing it though the system, while I head to the hotel to pack my stuff and check out.

Given that the hospital declared me fit to eat, we go for a GOOD dinner.  Not only I’m not eating hospital food, I’m eating good, rich [read: fat] meat.  The reasoning?  This is what empirical testing is all about: If my body can handle this, I’m 100% fit to fly.

Grill, Drottninggatan 89 113 60 Stockholm

Let’s just say that the night provided enough evidence to suggest that while I may be OK to fly, I’m not entitled to a clear bill of health.

After unhealthy dinner and desert, back to my “dorm”.  If only the door wasn’t locked.  It takes three Swedes to figure out how to open the hospital doors, and another 15 minutes before I find my ward.  The nurses node.

“We’ll wake you @ 4:20 for your blood” they remind me.  Yes, since I told them I have a 13:35 flight, they asked the lab, the nurse and the doctor to do their things earlier, so I’ll make my flight.  Nice cannot describe it.

More yet to come. . .

#139 – Not Yet Dead

Not Yet Dead [1-see comment at end]

This one is to Martin, Eran and Simon. And to the amazing, caring staff of the Karolinska University Hospital.

Denial

It wasn’t until Saturday noon, sitting at the airport with Eran, knowing I’m going home, that I allowed myself to break down and admit weakness and fear. The tears came as a total surprise though. Until that moment, others did all the worrying, while I was too busy being cool and tough.

2 AM – I am in Pain

Never thought of myself as a wimp, hence, when the first pain wave hit me around 2 am, I figured that it was nature’s response to a very rich dinner. As the hours moved on, nature was having fun. I was not! All I knew was that no matter how I lay, sat, rolled, hugged the pillow or bent, each wave of pain left me exhausted, with the naïve hope that soon enough it’ll stop. A hot bath didn’t help either. I started thinking of the HOUSE episode in which he breaks his finger to distract his mind from a bigger distress.

Around 7 AM I SMS-ed Simon and Martin, informing them that I won’t be able to join the day’s meeting. The idea of sitting, listening, responding and being patient [dah] was beyond me.

Reading the SMS, the two guys immediately shifted into “fix problem” mode. From that moment on, not an hour went by without at least one of them insisting I’d take action.

Phone consultation with a Doctor brought up terms like obstruction, stones and other terms I associate with people other than myself.

By 11 AM or so, I was ready to cry. 9 hours of pain, no sleep at all, in a hotel bed, tangled with the duvet, hugging a pillow, was not my idea of having a good time.

I obeyed Simon and called our dear AMEX support[2]. “We could get you a list of local doctors” she said. I said “yes, please”. A pathetic list of 3 items arrived more than 4-5 hours later.

Luckily, Martin and Simon were not about to let me stall. “Call the SOS line, NOW!!!” they ordered via SMS, Skype and phone.

And so I did.

There’s a light

A case manager, a medical case manager . . . suddenly I had a professional support team all working for me and my comfort. Within 10-15 minutes, I had an address and someone who’s sole task was to make sure that I’m being taken care of the best possible way. There was a bit of a competition there, between these guys and Martin & Simon, and later Eran, who could care more.

Checking in

For the first time in my life, I checked myself in, and not to a hotel or a flight. Once I paid SEK2000[3], things started moving fast. Blood, urine and descriptions were collected carefully, followed by a CT.

Having to remove everything containing metal turned out to be a challenge – I already had the instrument for liquid injection in my arm, and movement was limited. I had to swallow my “no thank you I can manage” rejection of help, and ask for it. Only to find myself thinking it’s the first time in my life I am helped removing my bra. “BY A WOMAN” was the bold angry message sent from my protesting brain and pleasure center. Yes, by a woman.

Martin, giving up an opportunity to enjoy the beauty of Stockholm, was with me, providing the support I was too blind and stubborn to admit I needed. Further, he recognized that talking work would be a good distraction. Can’t believe it, but it worked, almost as good as a pain killer.

It’s late afternoon and while the pain waves are not longer slicing me that often, not a single thought of food crosses my mind, and I don’t even notice.

While I’m offered a bed a couple of times, I keep going out to the waiting room to enjoy Martin’s company. Denial I call it now for what it was. Sick people need beds, not me.

Verdict, Little Kid and a Big Airplane

The Muslim doctor that was handling my case/me all afternoon is sitting me down for a serious talk. I can forget about getting on a plane tomorrow, I have gallstones and a couple other symptoms they are still investigating; my liver which may be infected, is inflamed, and flying with swollen organs, considering what air pressure does to balloons, is not recommended by the hospital. The SOS Dr. talks to Dr. Mahmud, and wanting a 3^rd opinion I call Ruti, my very own family doctor and friend in Israel. They all agree that flying is a great way to add adventure and pain to my life, along with, most likely, an emergency landing.

• — “You’d rather get it removed at home, right?” says the nice Doctor.
• — “Well, I rather get it done HOME-HOME”, I say.
• — “What do you mean, aren’t you an American?”
• — “Don’t you have an ear for accents?”
• I get a confused look in response.
• — “You are an Arab, aren’t you?” I ask/state.
• — “No, I’m a Kurd” is the immediate response, and I sense some offense in his tone.
• — “Oh, I’m really sorry” I quickly say, “And I’m an Israeli”
• — “You know, when I was a kid, and the Iraqi army was chasing us, and ended up in a camp near Turkey. . . me and all my family”
• — “Yes and the Turks didn’t welcome you either, I remember” I’m proud to show off my knowledge of middle-east conflict history and erase the Arab thing. “How old were you?”
• — “And I will never forget” he says, all emotional, “the first airplane that drooped us food was from Israel.”

I now have a friend at the hospital.

Next – checking in.

Comments:

[1] SPAMALOT – lyrics @ http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/spamalot/heisnotdeadyet.htm or general @ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spamalot

[2] Amex called hours later to ask if i needed anything else. By that time, I already canceled my flight, which the caller wasn’t even aware of. Not sure i was polite. They didn’t deserve it anyway.

[3] Exchange rate was retrieved using WorldMate Live which I’ve been enjoying for the past few months, tracking my biz trips and now my gallbladder-related events.

138 – Chick flick, Chick lit, Chicken Sh-t!

[Definitions for above terms are @ the bottom of this chapter.]

Getting tagged as “Chick”-something is bad for business. Its value for men evaporates, thus 49% of the population may view it as an “uncool”, “not-for-me” thing. Man’s manhood is challenged, once man admits going to chick flick, reading chick lit. Enjoying it is top secret, “I can tell you, but I’ll have to kill you” kind of thing

In Human Resources, the term “going pink” is used to describe professions that are moving from being predominantly performed by men to female territory. “Going pink” implies status and compensation are going down. Sadly, this happened to the Human Resources management profession itself. And we all suffer. Statistically [not to say genetically], Women are better caregivers. This is not antifeminism chauvinism, this is an observation. Last night @ the wedding, it was Melanie who called home to ask her man if everything is OK with charming daughter. I have yet to see A man, calling his wife while having a good time, not to say good night to the kids, but to ask “is everything alright with our precious off-spring/s?”

Do you find this observation irrelevant? Who then, in your office, organizes the gatherings? Remembers B-days? Or notices that you are not yourself today? Congrats to all men who are in touch with their caring side; hate to tell you that you are still a minority among men.

In the Manly Men’s Movie Reviews website, they describe themselves as “rampaging bundles of male hormones. We love movies with big, phallic guns and curvaceous chicks with clothing that falls away for no plot driven reason”. Keep on mind however, that they rated Borat A⁺. Who classifies a movie as a chick flick anyway? Couple of gals who want to see a bloodless movie? Avoid an evening with an action hero? Or is it the guys, unable to figure out emotional nuances beyond good, bad and ugly?

Why do I care? Last Tuesday, I saw The Secret Life of Bees. The night before, and all the way to the box office, Pam and I tried to decide between W. and the Bees. Discussion went like this:

“So which movie shall we see?”

“If we choose W., we could discuss it over dinner”

– Company to include 3 women, 2 men.

“On the other hand, The Secrets of Bees will provide us with a good healthy cry.”

“Yes, I know W.is serious, political, good subject for small talk.”

Upon arrival to the box office, we asked the attendant, who sort of repeated the lines above. I chose the bees. Pam provided the Kleenex in the appropriate time.

As we left the theater, I was developing that annoyed itch about the chick thing. The Secret Life of Bees is a great movie, well done, with great performance delivered by Dakota Fanning, Queen Latifah, Jennifer Hudson, Alicia Keys and Sophie Okonedo. The kind of performances that get nominated. Still wonder why tagging it as chick flick is so bad? . . . I hope not.

Good movie, good book, good stuff!

Secret Life?

And now to the definitions:

“Chick lit”, Wikipedia is a term used to denote genre fiction written for and marketed to young women, especially single, working women in their twenties and thirties. … The style can also be seen to be somewhat influenced by female teen angst movies like Sixteen Candles and Clueless. Later with the appearance of Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary and similar works; the genre continued to sell well in the 2000s, with chick lit titles topping bestseller lists and the creation of imprints devoted entirely to chick lit.

“Chick Flick”, Wikipedia is slang for a film designed to appeal to a female target audience. The term was first used in the 1980s, a decade during which such chick flicks as Beaches were released. … “Chick flick” is typically used only in reference to films that are heavy with emotion or contain themes that are relationship-based (though not necessarily romantic and may not involve men). It is typically not used for high art, feminist subject matter, or romantic comedies intended for a wider audience (such as the 2005 film Wedding Crashers and Fever Pitch^[1]).

Clipart:

http://www.lintrezza.com/uploaded_images/bee_birth5-748834.jpg

http://otter.covblogs.com/archives/images/chick_flick.jpg

#137 – Armrest[less]

Sitting uncomfortably in an airplane, ready to write about sitting in airplanes. Is it like writing about life instead of living it? Never mind.

So while I know you are waiting to read about Burning Man, Puerto Rico, home and what have you, this is what I feel like writing about and it’ll have to do.

Months ago, I went to Puerto Rico. That chapter has yet to be written. On the first flight [out of 2] back, I got a window seat. Preoccupied with my book , I caught from the corner of my eye a couple standing close to my row, talking in Spanish. They were discussing who’ll sit where, since their seats were aisle apart. The man decided he preferred the seat next to me and set down.

Being first, and reading, I already claimed the armrest. Or at least so I thought. The macho had a very different idea. As his arm met mine, in total violation of the unwritten rules of armrest sharing, instead of pulling back his arm ASAP, Mr. Macho opted for offense. The offensive arm started pushing, and pushing. . .

As I type this I can’t help laughing. This sounds so fictional, so taken from a Christopher Moore or John Welter book. I still find it hard to believe it really happened.

Restless Armrest / Delta Air Lines / AP

Back in Puerto Rico, we are still on the ground, but it’s a conflict zone. Not about to give up my tenure of the armrest, I’m pushing back. Uncomfortable by the proximity of the offensive arm, I take my blanket and place it as a barricade between us. I’m building a wall.

A split of a second later, I am shocked by the 2^nd attack. Now the guy is spreading his legs open, and aligns his right leg with mine as he opens a 2^nd front. Does he want the armrest, or is he looking for human contact, I wonder. Doesn’t matter. My pocketbook becomes part of the wall. When this is not enough, the case of my dear Bose headsets placed between our knees. The jerk’s pressure is such the the case in holding in the air.

it’s not the Berlin wall, it’s not the Western Wall, but it’s a wall in a conflict zone nonetheless. Meanwhile we took off, safety belt sign is off and the crew is passing around with drink and stale snacks. I cease the opportunity to get the UN on my side.

When asked “what would you like to drink”, my answer is “thank you, but before drinking, can you please tell this man to stop pushing himself all over me?”.

Given that I’m not known to be the whispering kind, the mushroom of silence is spreading around me. “Since the second he set down, this man kept pushing himself on me. I find this unacceptable.”

The [Latino male] attendant asks me to calm down. “I’ll calm down when you stop this. I expect you to protect me from such behavior on your flights.” The guy starts chatting with Mr. Macho in Spanish. “He says he did no such thing” is the conclusion of the discussion. “Look at all this”, I point out to the blanket, headset case, and bag. “Do you think I put it here for nothing?”

Mr. Macho opens his mouse. “I understand what you are saying” , he says in a very slow measured diction.

“I don’t care what you understand”, i dismiss the BS.

“What do you want me to do?” asks the attendant.

“I don’t want this guy sitting next to me.”

“Este… “ starts the attendant mouth to form yet another “what do you want me to do” response.

“Make him move and switch seats with his wife” I demand, as I point to the poor woman. Another quick exchange in Spanish and a no-man’s-land territory is established. The Mrs., I’m sad to say, did her best to be invisible, to occupy at little space as possible, and religiously worked on her Sudoku charts, one after another, never looking at me.

Now it was time for a drink.

As we arrived to Atlanta, knowing I have couple of hours before I make my connection, I followed the couple. Mr. Macho put a possessive hand around his wife shoulders, she had a frozen look on her face, looking forward, never turning her head left or right.

Not a word was spoken.

I went looking for a cup of good cappuccino.

Another person’s view can be found Here. And here’s an aggressive-possessive view of the subject.

The Wired, in the how to section couple of years ago, taught its readers how to capture the armrest. the crash course can be found HERE.

Bon Voyage.

#136 – Vacation, again

“Lesson learned” is not what I’d say towards the end of my first vacation day. I’d say that disconnecting from work, office and action items is not easy. Wonder how come Paul Simon never thought of composing “50 ways to leave your computer”. . .

I need only a couple.

The problem is all inside your head She said to me

- I know, so what?!
The answer is easy if you Take it logically

-sure. i’m on vacation and doing emails; how logical is it?
I’d like to help you in your struggle To be free
There must be fifty ways
To leave your ‘puter. . .

Red wine, Steak, friends. . . and hope to avoid emails for the rest of the evening.

Bon appétit.

#135 – My Name is NOT Earl, Gail or Yale

“Lost in translation” is a fact of life. It’s true for jokes, morals, stories. . . and to names. Since my parents were careful not to give any of us horrible, begging for teasing names, I never thought much about it. I knew its meaning, where it comes from, the animal called this name, and that was it. As long as I lived in Israel.

Psalms 104:18 - The high mountains are for the wild goats; the rocks are a refuge for the conies.

Imagine you, a native English speaker, moving to a country that speaks a language that has not “w”. Your name, BTW, is William, nickname Willie. Now everyone calls you Villie or Villiam. Or, further cutting it short, they call you Vill, but to your ears it sounds like Veal. Nice, ha? You are Veal from Vashington. How would you like your steak?

yael, Judean Desert

The English language, rich as it is, has its own limitation too. My name calls out one. “AE” put together are not a common sound, and I end up with listening to creative ways of pronouncing it or even more creative workarounds to avoid saying it. All in good intention, all much appreciated.

It’s important to note however, that a desert goat was not what my parents had on their mind.

And the Torah says:

Judges 4:15-23 (21st Century King James Version)

21st Century King James Version (KJ21)Copyright © 1994 by Deuel Enterprises, Inc.

15And the LORD discomfited Sisera and all his chariots and all his host with the edge of the sword before Barak, so that Sisera alighted down off his chariot and fled away on his feet. 16But Barak pursued after the chariots and after the host unto Harosheth of the Gentiles; and all the host of Sisera fell upon the edge of the sword, and there was not a man left.

17However Sisera fled away on his feet to the tent of Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite, for there was peace between Jabin the king of Hazor and the house of Heber the Kenite. 18And Jael went out to meet Sisera, and said unto him, “Turn in, my lord, turn in to me. Fear not.” And when he had turned in unto her into the tent, she covered him with a mantle. 19And he said unto her, “Give me, I pray thee, a little water to drink; for I am thirsty.” And she opened a bottle of milk, and gave him drink, and covered him. 20Again he said unto her, “Stand in the door of the tent, and it shall be, when any man doth come and inquire of thee and say, `Is there any man here?’ that thou shalt say, `No.’”

Yael, delivering Sisera to a world of Goodness

21Then Jael, Heber’s wife, took a nail of the tent and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground; for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died.

22And behold, as Barak pursued Sisera, Jael came out to meet him and said unto him, “Come, and I will show thee the man whom thou seekest.” And when he came into her tent, behold, Sisera lay dead, and the nail was in his temples. 23So God subdued on that day Jabin the king of Canaan before the children of Israel.

A little on the gory side, but those were the days. Don’t know how “yael” became “Jael”; lost in translation, I guess.

My solution? A new ringtone that may help the listener practice. If only I figured out how to load an audio file.

#134 – I Love Rhapsody

Hard to recall life pre-Rhapsody. Watching an old episode of Criminal Minds [Hard to recall life pre-DVR], the finale scene’s soundtrack included a song I liked. Playback, picking up few sentences, Googling, get the song and singer’s name, click Rhapsody, type in, and. . . the song is playing over the speakers without Agent Gideon quoting William Shakespeare over the song.

In previous life: try to memorize the few lines of the song one could pick, try to sing or recite it to a friend who’s taste one thinks is close to that song. . . and hope. If one got lucky the song was played on the radio within the time span of one’s ability to remember the song. . . nothing too promising.

But this is not it. I love Rhapsody for the games it allows us to play. How about the “make a wish” game. Not too long ago, Francine was over. And we tried to bit Rhapsody. “Tell me your favorite song”, I asked. And there is was. This is how I learned that one of the bands I enjoy listening to is Journey, nameless until then.

And this is how Francine learned that one of my favorite songs is a James Brown song. Click below for a surprise performance, with non less than. . . just click, will you?

James Brown and Pavarotti, unbelievable performance. embarrassingly, while watching i was wondering how easy is the drumming for the song compared to, you know. . . i managed to get so far without saying the R word.

There’s more. I love Little Wing. so imagine that 11 clicks on the keyboard got me the list of all version, original and covers. Clapton, SRV and Jimi Hendrix were a given, but what about Ottmar Liebert, The Corrs and Elvis Schoenberg’s Orchestra? All of which are worth listening, BTW.

This experience would have been limited, if it wasn’t for the comfort or spoiling offered by Sonos. I mentioned it before, so what?! Let me just say that having the ability to play the same music in all rooms, control it from one interface [computer or heavy remote], and manage all music on one’s network is a lot. Spoiling indeed. Soon to be categorized under “Hard to recall life pre”.

When you consume music as I do, even if i don’t know the song or singer’s name or biography, this is a great solution. Enjoy.

#133 – Through the Fire and Flames

RockBand

Flame, Fire and Rock [from http://www.gamespot.com/ps3/puzzle/rockband/images.html]

And the fun continues.

Every time I post a “chapter” that gets significantly more comments than usual, I gain an insight. Sometimes about myself; sometimes about us all. #131 was all about us, the hidden and not so hidden singers, the real players, the couch players, the armchair masters of guitars, the RockBand players, the GuitarHeroes and those waiting to come out of the, I guess, living room? The ways we find to express ourselves, openly or behind closed doors and with headsets.

And all the new songs I listen to and learn. Yesterday, over Skype, once we were done with work this and work that, and started talking music, I got this: “TtF&tF is the hardest thing on Guitar Hero 3, so I’m told…” to which I typed “Ha? Raising eyebrows”. So I got the TtF&tF for dummies version: “Through the fire and the flames”. Almost correct. It’s “Through the Fire and Flames” Wikipedia says. MTV, in a compilation they did, added to the song’s name an extra “the”.

That was yesterday.

Since then, I Rhapsody-ed the song, which I’ve never heard of. I’ll praise Rhapsody another time. Right now I’m pressing the [volume up] button and am happy that my apartment is a corner apt. and that the speakers are not next to any wall shared with the neighbors. I let it blast the whole 7:21 min. and then again. and again. and again.

Must see:

Israel, I was told, restricted access to the one above, so this one with subtitles should work with you, as it had been tested earlier today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DilAASI69Sc

The video, unlike the recorded song, is only 5 minutes long. Not that it should bother you. It’s overwhelming as it is. The things these hands can do. . .

YES / Tormato (1978)

I recall my excitement and joy in high school, when I got my first “Made in the UK” album. It was Tormato, by YES. As far as my dad was concerned, it was “No, No” and then again “NO!!!” When the sounds of Rejoice, the 1st song in the album, started filling the house, joy was not part of the parental behavior demonstrated.

I recall my excitement and joy in high school, when I got my first “Made in the UK” album. It was Tormato, by YES. As far as my dad was concerned, it was “No, No” and then again “NO!!!” When the sounds of Rejoice, the 1st song in the album, started filling the house, joy was not part of the parental behavior demonstrated.

Unfortunately, having the largest of the kids bedrooms in the house, had its price. it was also the bedroom sharing a wall with our dinning room/ open kitchen area. As time went by, my dad learned to recognize the sounds of the album. For someone who insisted that it’s not music, I think he did very well.

Not even “The WALL“, which i played much more often, got so much negative attention. So in our house Tormato was a success. It generated the right teenager-parent conflict of noise. Sadly, Yes didn’t share the same view. They never thought of the album in terms of success.

The only song with some success was “Don’t Kill the Whale”. If they’d only asked me. In a 2nd thought however, I’m kind of happy they didn’t. Almost 30 years later, in a music conversation, I was told that the album that I insisted to call TOMATO, is called, as a matter of fact, Tormato. Another great moment of ignorance.

My apologies, YES.

And how’s the RockBand doing? It’s all about practice. I still suck with the drums. In vocals however, I ventured today into Medium difficulty level. Did I mention it takes practice? But the Drums… dear damn drums…

As I sign off, going for my “witchcraft” book (see #131), here’s a drummer I won’t compete with:

#132- I vacation Part III [and last]

I Vacation, part III Originally uploaded by yaelol

Going on vacation as i did, means no camera, means i relay on friends and the web to provide the atmosphere. and these pictures indeed were taken by friends.

Friends however, cannot write my experiences for me. they can and do contribute to them; can be part of them, and therefore part of me.

So, with many months old perspective, here i am, ready to complete this amazing trip to Virgin Islands, only to clear the cue for Budapest and Paris, Puerto Rico and Israel, St. Petersburg, Russia and the many little things that collectively are called my life.

Virgin Island.

The islands, are anything but virgin. many races have been here and gone, many left some genetic cells behind. some left more. Food, music, cloths… Then the tourists came and took away the virginity.

I can’t help but recall the crazy book I recently read, that takes place on an island not far from St. John VIUS. “Crazy” doesn’t even come close to describing the wild rich imagination of the writer. Island of the Sequined Love Nun by Christopher Moore. What can bring cannibals, a talking bat and a drunk pilot together to one small island?

Guess you’ll have to read the book. However, as islands go, some things are true for both the fictional and the one I’ve been visiting.

Where it’s never cold, mostly too humid, and, as islands go, there’s water all around. I managed to avoid the water. Mostly. Months after the latest and last Harry Potter came out, Harry and I were finally together. Harry was with me by the pool, everyday, for hours at the time. Until almost the very end, at least Harry was virgin. and now they are making a movie.

Good as Potter is for a vacation companion, I had friends to meet. What are the chances that Rich and Pat, close friends from NJ, will end up here, at the same as me? I wonder which butterfly flapped its wings to make this happened. And then again, who cares. The best day of this first-in-a-long-time vacation was spent with them.

As it turned out, not all resorts were born equal. Ruti and I were staying @ the Westin Resort, and thought the place was almost OK, other than a bit too many honeymooners and kids. Until we joined Rich and Pat at Caneel Bay. No kids under 16, private beaches all around. . . Mr. Laurance Rockefeller, the original owner, loved the environment, loved to enjoy it too. However, being a Rockefeller, he had to make money too. So he developed few environmentally oriented resort hotels in Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Hawaii and Vermont, serving as chairman of Rockresorts, Inc., a resort management company which he founded and chaired. [http://www.hotel-online.com/News/PR2004_3rd/Jul04_LRockefeller.html]

In addition, L. Rockefeller was key in the creation and development of several national parks including Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, Virgin Islands National Park on the island of St. John (I’m here) and Marsh, Billings, Rockefeller National Historical Park in Vermont. Judging by the one visited – Caneel Bay, St. John – the guy knew what he was doing. Look at the photos from their website.

After the hugs and the laughs, we head to Breakfast. And it feels like I’m a guest in a plantation. The waiter who delivers great coffee has white gloves on. The Breakfast buffet is big on the eggs and meat side, and the cushioned rattan furniture all fit the image in my mind.

Breakfast done, it’s time for the beach. The 6 of us have a private beach all to ourselves. In comparison, the Westin suddenly is nothing but the public pool of the hood. Even the water looks better, and i can’t help but go in for a swim. More than once. In between our conversations cover world politics, recent development in the medical field – unavoidable when two of your friends are doctors-, getting me to rave about the wonders of Blackberry, and all of us have our books or magazines to fall back to.

I Vacation: Beach, Blackberry, friends

Hiking with Pat along the isolated trails, I’m impressed with the artful way of creating a resort which is well manicured yet are natural and a little wild, and offers the privacy level only a Rockefeller could afford.

Blue clear water, sun, short hike, what else is missing? A 4 O’Clock tea. The tea is wet, the scones are fresh and warm; i can’t remember if there were cucumber sandwiches or not. but if there were, they were fresh and perfect, like everything else. To remind me of reality, a laptop walk in a joins us. Stock and investments take wi-fi with their tea. Not sure is this was part of Laurance Rockefeller’s vision. Regardless, I love the place.

After our goodbyes, we head back to the Westin resort, and it feels so less cool than before. Ruti gets her book and I go back to Harry.

I take a day trip to Saint Tomas with Larry and Linda, only to find myself in a shopping hell. Everyone is nice, and polite and has something to sell. You name it, it’s there. I end up buying couple of magnets and this is it. The food is good, the company is great, and I’m happy.

We take the ferry back to St. John and Ruti who’d been studying all day. In a funny way, it makes the vacation even feel more like a vacation. Sorry Ruti.  I just a whole day off-line. This is a vacation.

This is our last night. Ruti is taking the morning ferry, and I take the afternoon one. She’ll fly east, and I’ll fly West.  Hugs, kisses, walking Ruti to the water. 3 hours later, Larry and Linda are walking me, and i hugs this amazing couple that from invading my boat seat became such good friends. who’s imagine that a month later we’d meet again in Puerto Rico?

And this was it. I did vacation. And Loved it.

Planning my next vacation, it’ll be all around packing, cleaning, unpacking, goodwilling a lot of extra stuff i could well do without. and a new address. yes, my next vacation is a moving vacation.

#131- To Geek or to Gape?

Guitar Hero, Rock Band, Sing Star. . . for the longest time I took pride in my ignorance. “Guitar Hero?” I asked. “Never heard of it. What is it anyway?” PS2 meant nothing to me. Correction: I thought PS/2 had something to do with fiber optics or my computer. Embarrassed to ask, it took a while before I learned that PS = Play Station. Waking up early and line up in front of a store that offers the new PS3? Not in my lifetime. I can’t quote any Star Trec or Star Wars famous line without a computer or a geek near me. I never heard of Gary Gygax, nor found out that he recently passed away.

Too often I gaped watching colleagues and friends talk for hours about characters and universes I didn’t even know existed. D. playing a plastic, stringless guitar? Inconceivable! Staff meeting turning into “PlayStation history 101”? unbelievable. And yet I’ve attended the class. Took no notes though.

Adults getting excited over anything PS3? My inner self couldn’t comprehend. Tetris was more than enough for all my gaming needs. “I love Pictionary”, I stated proudly again and again. A game in which you hold a pen and impose your thoughts and ideas on paper, this is what a good game is all about. Interaction with people, sharing hilarious and challenging moments for the sake of pure fun. Computer games? No Way. Games on my phone? Not a chance. At least not until. . .

Couple of weeks ago, I was invited to sing with Sing Star.The songs were too British, and the shop selection was even more British. Fun, but nothing more. A week went by, and I was invited to join a Rock Band. I miserably failed the drumming test. Instead, I was hired as the lead singer. 4 hours later, with one call to Bill for help, and 6 or 8 gigs, I was hooked.

Welcome to Geek world. You can checkout any time you like, But you can never leave!

To be honest, there were some warning signs. “find me a game I’d like”, I asked my favorite geeks. I was sent to http://www.gamesforwork.com/games/; I was put in front of a PS3, completely helpless with the controls, trying one game after another. And then, just like that, over a Sunday lunch, I was handed a Nintendo (DS Lite) with Professor Layton and the Curious Village loaded. And I couldn’t wait to get a chance to help the professor and his annoying apprentice. A week later I was given the white box, and unable to wait until a lost charger was found, rushed to buy a 2^nd one @ Fry’s.

This however, is nothing compared to joining a Rock Band. Plus, of course, i wasn’t having much success with Prof. Layton’s puzzles.

So is it a matter of finding the right hook? Is it a matter of passing a certain level of exposure to geeks followed by an incubation period?

Dunno. All I can tell you is that Mississippi Queen is really hard to sing, and not a favorite… unlike “I think I’m Paranoid” which quickly grows on me.

Care to join a rock band?

#130 – This Airport ain’t My Home

My home address is not Business Lounge, Airport.World. In the past months though, it sometimes felt this way. Getting to the point that I KNOW where the lounges are, remembering in which airport the cappuccino is drinkable, and in which airport there’s a reason for the lounge food being free. Sadly, paying me to eat it would make more sense.

And here I am, for the last time in this quarter, in an airport, in a lounge, getting free Wi-Fi from the next lounge over, desperately thinking of yogurt, resisting touching the nuts. staying away from the alcohol. 11 AM is too early for any of it.

Developing mental visualizations of airplanes floor plan, showing up an extra hour early since i know the flight is full, getting used to the German abnormality of passport control between domestic terminals. all gets registered and becomes part of a routine.

the next step will be that the staff in the lounges or on the airplanes will remember me. Smiling. giving my endless source of requests for improvements, this is a real possibility.

Practice does make is easier. Perfect is not an option in today’s aerial world. tolerable is more like it.

So where do I start?

How about this: in Chicago airport, with couple of hours between one flight to next, i sit in one of the cafes. Well practices in creating around me the atmosphere of “leave me alone, i want this space for myself”, i am surprised when a guy (medium height, unmanaged beard, casual outfit) asks if he could sit down. “Yes” I say reluctantly, as i dive deeper into the book I’m reading, the coffee I’m drinking, the useless calories I’m consuming.

denying the guy’s existence, i rearrange my carry-ons, ensuring that earphones, book, MP3 and socks are in the light backpack. “Excuse me, would it bother you if i asked you a question”, Mr. Beard inquires. “No”, i say, only to immediately reverse it to “Yes, go ahead”.

“Do you practice witchcraft, or do you only read about it?”

I’m so shocked, i don’t even laugh. “what?!”

“Do you practice witchcraft, or do you only read about it?”

“why are you asking?”, is my lame response.

“Well, the book you are reading”, is the not-at-all-embarrassed response i get. Apparently, as i was rearranging my stuff, the guy looked at the books i was moving around. It had to be the 2nd book i had, since the book i was reading had cannibals, a bat with sunglasses, a Sky Priestess and a sorcerer among its characters, but no witches.

At this point I’m laughing out of control. I’ve been called witch before, but somehow no one was ever that serious about it. I smell no garlic, see no cross, but the guy is reading the bible. Go figure. Finding God as the answer to his life, i find out, it was kept this guy alive. i don’t question his sanity.

Nor do i tell him that at my home, there’s a broom leaning against the wall. You can’t miss it. you see it as you walk in.

Spiderweb soup anyone?

#129 – Israeli Sunset

Sunset on the Mediterranean

Originally uploaded by dindrigo

Having a first-timer with me posted a challenge. what is the first thing you want him to see 90 minutes after landing?

I chose Tel Baruch beach.

With Beer – Maccabi [for him], Wine [for me] and fries.

Four months passed, and this chapter is still missing its essence, its soul. how can i bring someone to Israel, on his first visit, and sum it up with beer and fries @ Tel Baruch? Shame, shame, shame.

On the other hand, how can I neglect writing about any of the things, destinations and mishaps that i went through in the past months? Shame, shame, shame.

Started the week (June 15) in Paris, where Christopher ended each teasing, challenge or drink with “you will blog about this, right?’

And my answer is; “yes Christopher, i will blog about this, and this and about that too”.

Not everyday, possibly, not every week, but a lot. and with photos, that for a change may include some of my own.

get it?

… ” What it is,
When you get it,
If you get it…

TODD: HAH!
LOVETT:
Good, you got it!”

from http://www.soundtracklyrics.net/song-lyrics/sweeney-todd/a-little-priest.htm

#132 – I Vacation Part III [and last]

I Vacation, part III Originally uploaded by yaelol

Going on vacation as i did means no camera, means i relay on friends and the web to provide the atmosphere. and these pictures indeed were taken by friends.

Friends however, cannot write my experiences for me. they can contribute to them, can be part of them, and therefore my of me.

So with many months old perspective, and here i am, ready to complete this amazing trip to Virgin Islands, only to clear the cue for Budapest and Paris, Puerto Rico and Israel, St. Petersburg, Russia and the many little things that collectively are called my life.

Virgin Island.

The islands, are anything but virgin. many races have been here and gone, many left some genetic cells behind. some left more. some, like the

Where it’s never cold, mostly too humid, and, as islands go, there’s water all around. I managed to avoid the water. Mostly. First it was the pool. Months after the latest and last Harry Potter came out, Harry and I were finally together. Harry was with me at the pool, everyday, for hours at the time. Until almost the very end, at least Harry was virgin. and now they are making a movie.

Good as he is for a vacation companion, I had friends to meet. What are the chances that Rich and Pat, close friends from NJ, will end up here, at the same as me? I wonder which butterfly flapped its wings to make this happened. on a 2nd thought, who cares. The best day of this first in a long time vacation was spent with them.

As it turns out, not all resorts are born equal. Ruti and I were staying @ the Westin Resort, and thought the place was almost OK, other than a bit too many honeymooners and kids. Until we joined Rich and Pat at Caneel Bay. No kids under 16, private beaches all around. . . Mr. Laurance Rockefeller, the original owner, loved the environment. However, being a Rockfeller, he too had to make money. He developed few environmentally oriented resort hotels in Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Hawaii and Vermont, serving as chairman of Rockresorts, Inc., a resort management company which he founded and chaired. [http://www.hotel-online.com/News/PR2004_3rd/Jul04_LRockefeller.html]

In addition, he was key in the creation and development of several national parks including Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, Virgin Islands National Park on the island of St. John and Marsh, Billings, Rockefeller National Historical Park in Vermont. And we are now in Caneel Bay, St. John. Look at the photos from their website.

After the hugs and the laughs we head to Breakfast. And if feels like I’m a guest in a plantation. the waiter who delivers great coffee has white gloves on. the Breakfast buffet is big on the eggs and meat side, and the cushioned rattan furniture all fit to the image in my mind.

After breakfast, it’s time for the beach. The 6 of us have a private beach all to ourselves. In comparison, the Westin suddenly is nothing but the public pool of a hood. Even the water look better, and i can’t help but go in for a swim. and later another one. In between our conversations cover world politics, recent development in the medical field – unavoidable when two of your friends are doctors, getting me to rave about the wonders of Blackberry, and all of us have our books or magazines to fall back to.

I Vacation: Beach, Blackberry and friends

Afternoon Tea @ Caneel Bay

Hiking with Pat along the isolated trails, I’m impressed with the artful way of creating a resort which is well manicured yet are natural and a little wild, and offers the privacy level only a Rockefeller could afford.

Blue clear water, sun, short hike, what else is missing? A 4 O’Clock tea. The tea is wet, the scones are fresh and warm; i can’t remember if there were cucumber sandwiches or not. but if there were, they were fresh and perfect, like everything else. To remind me of reality, a laptop walk in a joins us. Stock and investments take wi-fi with their tea. not sure is this was part of Laurance Rockefeller’s vision. Regardless, i love the place.

After our goodbye we head back to the Westin resort, and if feels so less cool than before. Ruti gets her book and I go back to Harry.

I take a day trip to Saint Tomas with Larry and Linda, only to find myself in a shopping hell. everyone is nice, and polite and has something to sell. you name it, it’s there. i end up buying couple of magnets and this is it. the food is good, the company is great, and I’m happy.

We take the ferry back to St. john and Ruti who’d been studying all day. in a funny way, it makes the vacation even feel more like a vacation. A whole day off-line. This is a vacation.

This is my our last night. Ruti is taking the morning ferry, and i take the afternoon one. hugs, kisses, walking Ruti to the water. 3 hours later, Larry and Linda are walking me, and i hugs this amazing couple that from invading my boat seat became such good friends. who’s imagine that a month later we’d meet again in Peurto Rico?

And this was it. I did vacation. And Loved it.

Planning my next vacation, it’ll be all around packing, cleaning, unpacking, goodwilling a lot of extra stuff i could well do without. and a new address. yes, my next vacation is a moving vacation.

#128 – Year of the Ring

If you haven’t read it yet, please jump to #87 – Weddings Beware. It will put this blog in the right context.

I hate weddings. Have a low opinion of the whole thing. Too much energy, effort and $$ spent on the wrong thing.

Finding the right one is among one’s biggest life challenges. Finding the one for which the compromises required for a solid, happy, long-term partnership are done without a 2^nd thought is, for some, on a scale of a miracle. It’s something that one feels deep inside, at the core of one’s essence, identity and being – if all goes well. Too often, the couples shift from Breaking the Glass to breaking the reunion.

It’s personal. It’s between you and your partner.
And you are so happy. You want to shout it, you want to share it… you want everyone to know.
Great, understood.
But why does it have to be shared and communicated with such extravaganza? The louder the noise, the bigger the venue, the greater your happiness? I don’t think so. The richer the buffet, the richer the future? Not at all. If anything, the richer the buffet, the greater the bills to pay.

And yet, so many do it; often more than once.

Having long experience in finding the wrong ones, I never got as far as doing it myself, and after going through too many as an observer, I realized that I simply don’t like weddings, don’t enjoy wedding; don’t care about weddings. Happy to share your joy, from afar. Don’t send me an invitation; send me the URL to your gift listing, or an account #. I’m happy for you, deeply, and would be happier if you won’t ask me to go through the motions of wow, this is amazing, of course I’d love to have a picture with you… and the food is so unique… your mom looks amazing tonight… And yourself – WOW.

To be honest, I don’t limit my aversion to weddings. Bar Mitzvahs are just as bad. Coming to think about it, since my youngest brother’s Bar mitzvah, I’ve been exactly to one, and there were mitigating reasons.

Sorry, I’m kind of repeating myself, 2.5 years after I wrote #87. Why?

Because for me, this year, the Year of the Rat, is The Year of the Ring.

Not one, not two, THREE weddings I cannot escape. People are creative. The better they know you, the better they know how to manipulate guilt or just make it impossible for you to say NO!!!

Israel, Germany and N YC, all in one year, all requiring my presence, all know me well enough to get me where they want, i.e. in their WEDDINGS.

The Israelis used multi-method “attacks”, spamming all my email addresses, phone numbers and when we met in CA, in person. It’s hard to say “NO” to the people you love, it’s not so fair to use it against me. And it worked.

The Germans had a plan. They nominated me to be the bridesmaid. Yes, that’s right. Call me when you collect yourself from the floor after you are done laughing.

How did they do it? Smartly. I’m the only one, chosen and appealed to by both, and as long as it’s not jeans, there’s no dress code. Out of all the things I could say, “no” didn’t seem like a real option.

That’s two, one more to go. And I will go. To Manhattan in November. Why? Because of my sheer stupidity, and… love for these great friends.

I have these two great friends, sexual orientation does not matter, that when they moved-in together, happy as I were for them, I promised, scout’s honor, that should they ever chose to get married, I’ll make an exception and attend their wedding.

How on earth was I supposed to know that they’ll pick the same year? Didn’t I tell you? It’s my Year of the Ring.

Though my phone have been awfully quiet.

 

ClipArt Credits:

• http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/img/holidays/weddings/greek-wedding.gif
• http://www.davechidley.ca/assets/images/autogen/a_04Chidley.jpg
• http://www.safetygearhq.com/images/handcuffs-hinged-orange.jpg
• http://www.tickle-me-elmo.co.uk/elmo-images/elmo-laughing.gif
• http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/news/archives/images/brides.jpg
• http://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Photos/Bless-Ph/brides&grooms.jpg – the photographer is Kris Cleponis/ Reuter
• http://www.ckmark.com/UserFiles/ProductImage/1148285854tb_m40.jpg

The Links that don’t work [in PDF version]– WHY???

• http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/313726/jewish/The-Breaking-of-the-Glass.htm
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rat_(zodiac)

#127 – I Killed Kimberly

It all started seven or eight weeks ago. Phone buzzes. I pick up. “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Kimberly please?”

“There’s no Kimberly here, you got the wrong number.”

An hour or so the phone buzzes.

I pick up. “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Kimberly please?”

“There’s no Kimberly here, you got the wrong number.”

The following day we go through this 3 times. A different girl every time, all want to speak to Kimberly.

After a week or so, I’m not so nice any more.

“”Put your supervisor on”, I demand. By now, I figured that it’s not that Kimberly has an infinite number of girlfriends; all she has is one annoying calling center.

“There’s no supervisor available at this time” was the annoying answer. “I’ll hold.”

By the end of week 2 I agreed to be recorded saying “Do not call this number, there’s no Kimberly here, remove this number from your damn database”.

“Sure, thank you” was the response. On the following day, no surprises; the daily harassment goes on as usual.

Now I’m in Canada, and each call is airtime + roaming. Damn Kimberly. “Who are you?” I demand. “We are Beneficiary”.

“And what do you sell?”

“We sell nothing, it’s a service”

“Well, I don’t want your damn service, and don’t call. Can you please get it into your head and database?”

I’m recorded again.

And surely enough the calls continue.

By now, I’m in Barcelona and pissed.

“Can I speak to Kimberly please?”

“Can you hang yourself with the phone cord please?”

A second later, I already feel sorry. Not that poor girl’s fault. Working in a call center is pretty close to living hell in my mind. As always, the better response springs to mind AFTER the call. I should have killed Kimberly; that’s what I had to do. Veronique and Dan share the idea.

Luckily, I didn’t have to feel sorry for too long. The following day, as we walk to the Sun’s party, the phone rings and surely, it’s the same maddening number from area code 909.

“Can I speak to Kimberly please?”

Now I’m ready. In a sober, serious voice I say, “I’m sorry, Kimberly was killed in a car accident yesterday, and we’d really appreciate if you’d refrain from calling. It’s really hard on us.”

A pause… “I’m so sorry”.

I hang up.

Jumping in a Barcelona street screaming “I did it; I killed Kimberly” felt great.

Needless to say, they had to call once more. And that was it.

RIP Kimberly.

Clipart credits:

http://www.telephonemagic.com/images/chameleon/call-center-diagram-1-400.gif

http://inrepose.typepad.com/in_repose_blog/images/2007/09/04/istock_000002707902xsmallcellphon_2.jpg

#126 – Man’s job, woman’s job

There are accepted activities that belong in one’s Sunday morning, and there are things I don’t expect to find myself doing on a Sunday morning. To finish reading Monstrous Regiment (by Terry Pratchett) is accepted and fun. To follow their act and do a man’s job? Unexpected, undesired, unwanted.

And if unexpected, how did I find myself on a Sunday morning crawling behind the TV-receiver-DVD player-CD player-Sonos-cluster rewiring speakers. And if one crawls behind that mess, one has to clean up all the dust and whatever accumulated back there among the wires and cables. There are things I simply don’t care to know, don’t want to know, and much less do. However, giving up music is not a real option. So after the Comcast guy ripped the wires of the right speaker on Friday, I found myself @ Frys on Saturday, getting speakers wire, and perspiring on the carpet on Sunday. Striping the wire ends and screwing the ends into their homes, without messing up the + and the – is no fun.

While the women in Monstrous Regiment had to fight for their right to perform and get recognized for their manly military actions, I share no such desire. As far as I’m concerned, equality should mean that men get to do feminine work, and women get to chose what they want to do… Can’t recall any man complaining about having such options for generations. 100% accuracy is not what I’m going for here, in case you wonder about facts and gender PC. All I want is the ability and ease of delegating such projects to those who for years felt it’s their God-given territory. I guess I could blame my dad for recruiting me to wiring projects in one of our never-ending renovations while in elementary school. Or the appeal of painting the gables of our home instead of dusting books or whatever caged-in-the-house task my mom would have me do. True, my progress was dependent on the availability of a manly figure to move the ladder, but if anything, that meant long breaks between one segment to the next. And, unlike dusting, you do it every other year, not every week.

So speakers are working, tools have yet to be put away, and it’s time for some womanly unpacking.

 

 

Credits:

http://img167.imageshack.us/img167/3719/ragmopms9.jpg

 

#125 – It’s not easy being green II

As I wrote before, I learned to appreciate individualism the hard way. Trying to be part of the herd and realizing that for one, I suck at it, and if that wasn’t enough, that the emotional price involved with being not me, is too high for me to pay.
That’s true for cloth, communication, limited ability for hypocrisy, and couple of other traits that got me in trouble before. And will too.

So I never wanted an iPOD. EVERYBODY had one [almost]. Nor [an] MP3 player. “The in-flight music channels”, I insisted, “are more than enough for me. All I need is a good headset”. All was nice until I got to the point that I run out of channels. Sitting on a 10-hours flight when you are sick and tired of the music is a good drive to BYOM to your next flight.
Right away I had my search criteria:
#1 – cannot be an iPOD. iTunes are annoying enough, no need for more.
#2 – sound quality is #1 priority
#3 – movies are low priority. In the days of 38” TV becoming the new standard,who wants to squint for 90-130 minutes?
#4 – find a friendly expert (not to say an audiophile or a geek) to identify a player that obeys #1-3.

And so I did. A full report was generated and emailed, leaving me with too much information, a feature list and the inability to make up my mind. Plan B was needed.

So I went to Fry’s with my own consultant. It worked much better. Now I’m the wondering owner of the Zen (16 GB). My next trip, starting this Saturday, going though February 27^th, will provide the opportunity to find out if the consultant was right.

 

Falling asleep with the music though, won’t be an option. See #124 for a partial list.

And this is not the only gadget that took residence in my life. Have you tried SONOS?

Clipart credits:

http://www.gadgetell.com/images/2007/05/kermit.jpg

http://blogofwishes.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/08/creative_zenw.jpg